There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel for her children crying Will not be comforted! 2 Let us be patient, these severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly thro' the mists and vapors, Amid these earthly damps, What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers, May be heav'ns distant lamps. 3 She is not dead, the child of our affection, But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives whom we call dead. 4 And tho' at times, impetuous with emotion, And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean That cannot be at rest: We will be patient--and assuage the feeling We cannot wholly stay, By silence sanctifying, not concealing The grief that must have way. Henry W. Longfellow, 1849. 502 Peace, Be Still. P.M. _Submission._ Peace, be still! In this night of sorrow bow; Oh, my heart, contend not thou; What befalls is God's own will; Peace, be still! 2 Hold thee still! Tho' the Father scourge thee sore, Cling thou to him all the more; Let him mercy's work fulfill; Hold thee still! 3 Lord, my God! Give me grace, that I may be Thy true child, and silently Own thy scepter and thy rod; Lord, my God! 4 Shepherd mine! From thy fullness give me still Faith to do and bear thy will Till the morning light shall shine; Shepherd mine! Schiller. 503 Rest, Weary Pilgrim. 10s. _Death of a Christian._ Rest, weary pilgrim, thy journey is o'er, Rest, sweetly rest, on the beautiful shore; Safely at last thou hast reached the bright goal, Fatherland, home of the soul. 2 Never again shall thy storm-beaten breast Sigh, deeply sigh, for the sweet "land of rest;" Gone to the Savior's bright mansion above, Rest in the light of his love. 3 Rest, weary pilgrim, thy journey is o'er, Rest, sweetly rest, on the beautiful shore; Dangers and troubles shall harm thee no more, Rest on the beautiful shore. Maria Straub. 504 As Fade the Stars. P.M. _The Life of the Departed._ As fade the stars at morn away, Their glory gone in perfect day, So pass away the friends we love, Their presence lost in worlds above, While we o'er their slumbers are weeping. 2 As sink the stars when night is o'er, To rise upon some other shore, So sink our precious ones from sight, In other skies to walk in light, While we sorrow's vigils are keeping.